Grant Me Serenity
by somedeepmystery
Summary: A glimpse into Wash's life right before he finds his future.


This isn't new, just new to here. Been awhile since I've uploaded anything here but I've been contemplating keeping all my stuff together.

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He was drinking heavily, had been all night. And they were giddy with the idea of it. He could see their beady little eyes follow the cup up to his lips and back down again. After each time they would look at each other with small triumphant grins. A man drinks that much, he was bound to do something stupid. They were probably right.

Of course, he wasn't drinking what they thought he was.

Tonight his drink of choice was a delectable apple cider. Not the fermented kind, but fresh crisp apple cider that was so sweet and tangy at the same time, that it caused the cheeks to pucker. It was tart on the tongue and slid down his throat, landing in his stomach as neat as you please. No, his consumption wasn't about to impair his judgment.

Still, that didn't mean they were necessarily wrong about the stupid.

Three minutes later he was trying to suppress a triumphant grin of his own as he laid down his last card. The table erupted in profuse swearing, consisting of Mandarin, English and maybe even a little French. He decided what the hell and laughed giddily as he scooped his winnings toward him. He was supposed to be plastered, right?

He stuffed his winnings haphazardly into his pockets, leaving a few small bills and coins on the table in seeming negligence, then fell clumsily off his chair for good measure. He laughed as he stood, shot down the last of his cider and announced. "I gotta hit the head." He slammed the cup down on the table to, knocking it and his neighbor's over in the process.

"Don't!" He said leaning forward and pointing adamantly at one of the others at the table. "Don't you dare deal those cards without me." He slurred. "I'm on a roll." With that he turned and made an uneven beeline for the bathroom in the back. Their voices followed him with "hurry up", "I'll order you another", and other things. He closed the door on them happily, then looked across the room and smiled at the sight of the large square window.

Hoisting himself up and out was easy. Getting down the other side however, not so much. He landed hard on his ass in a shallow mud puddle. After cursing colorfully, he climbed wearily to his feet and rubbed his bruise cheek plaintively. As he turned and made his way down the alley, he had to take a reluctant moment to reflect on his situation.

There had to be an easier way for a pilot to make a living. Of course being able to get hired to fly ships that did actual jobs would probably help. Or he could find a ship to fly that wasn't run by a homicidal maniac, also helpful. Or he could steal all the winnings from the next race he was harangued into and buy his own ship to fly. He probably wouldn't last long though; he wasn't the best at total responsibility. He frowned as he waved down a jig. A man ran up to him, a hovering contraption floating along after. He climbed in happily. He didn't think he could stand the solidity of ground under his feet for another moment.

He climbed the long and rickety stairs up to his apartment at a slow and weary pace, stopping every so often to stare at the stars over head. A fragile voice stopped him just before he reached his door, while he was still searching in his pocket for his keycard.

"Hoban? Hoban, dear, is that you?" He sighed and turned around with a big smile despite how tired he was.

"Hey, Mrs. Brooks." He said.

"Hello dear, you're comin' home so late these days."

Could it be because he felt like he was trapped inside his own skin? Or could it be that staring at the walls of his apartment only served to remind that all this was supposed to be temporary and yet he'd been here on this crusty little moon longer then he'd been on a single world since he'd left home. He rubbed a hand over his mustache thoughtfully, pinching the coarse strands between his fingers. "Well, just out having a little fun." He responded awkwardly. "Oh hey, I've got the rent."

"Oh, no need to be worryin' about that," she said but held out and eager hand just the same. He dug a wad of the crumpled money from his pocket and counted a large amount of it out into her palm.

"Alright Mrs. Brooks, I'll see you tomorrow then." He gave a little wave and started to turn away.

"Wait, wait, I have somethin' for you!" And Wash shoved his hands into his pockets and waited for her to shuffle slowly into her section of the run down building. He felt that sudden, strong desire to just start running and not stop.

It wasn't Mrs. Brook's fault he knew, it was just the crazy. He managed a genuine smile for her when she returned with a plate of cookies for him. "Thanks ma'am. You sure are nice to a stranded pilot."

"Oh I'm you won't be stranded for much longer, sweetie, everyone 'round these parts knows you're the best there is. Maybe you should try for one a them Blue Sun jobs."

Wash managed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice when he replied. "That's a good idea, I'll look into it." And with a nod and another thank you for the cookies he turned toward his apartment and opened the door.

The room was tiny and sparse. The only furnishings were an unmade bed and the cortex viewer built into the wall. He tossed the plate of cookies, which would be his supper, onto the bed and stripped off his loud shirt and muddy trousers, tossing them haphazardly in the corner with the rest of the laundry.

He was gonna have to do something about that soon.

He sat on the edge on his bed in plaid boxers and an a-shirt. Mrs. Brook's comment pricked annoyingly at his mind. Blue Sun. That ship had long sailed. He laid back on his bed and tossed an arm over his face. He was asleep just moments later.

He tried to avoid this place.

At least he told himself to try and avoid this place.

It never really worked.

So here he was again, looking out over the docks wistfully. The various ships, in various sizes, shapes and conditions, gleamed in the morning sun. They came, they went, people boarded and disembarked. He thought briefly about stuffing himself into a box and stowing away. He looked up as a Vanguard Falcon pushed away from the pull of gravity and lifted up to the stars. His feet felt that much heavier as he pictured in his mind's eye the parting of the bluish atmo haze, thinning more and more until all that lay before him was a wide expanse of stars. He could almost feel the changing weight of the ship beneath him, the subtle shifting of the yoke in his hands.

Another movement caught his eye and he turned to look at the ship currently making its landing. He snorted in mild disgust at the ungainly approach of the Firefly Class transport as it moved awkwardly into position. Obviously some amateur. It irritated him a bit to see a pretty lady like that handled with such a heavy hand.

He stayed and watched her land. She slammed down a bit hard, but not obviously so. It was too damn bad they were probably more smugglers, boat like that. Maneuverable, full of hidey holes, and not too expensive to keep in the sky. He was pretty sure he'd had his fill of that crowd, which is why he kept turning Renshaw down, despite an overwhelming, nearly suffocating need to get off this rock.

Her cargo bay door descended, and a woman walked out. Strode, would be a better description. Her back was ram rod straight, her movements both graceful and powerful at the same time. He raised and eye brow with interest. She turned and he caught sight of her face full in the sunlight. "Wow," he said slowly, leaning back against a light pole and making himself more comfortable. Another crew member disembarked, a shirtless man with long hair and 'decorative' tattoos. She spoke to him briefly and with an air of authority. Then, another man strode out smacking a pair of gloves against his leg. Wash knew immediately that this was the captain, by both her response to him and they way he carried himself. He was wearing a long brown coat, and a pair of trousers with a military stripe down the leg. Wash squinted. They were soldiers. Independants. The thought interested him. Then the woman gave the captain a sardonic smile and both his eyebrows went up. It was an amazing smile, even from this distance.

She disappeared back into the ship, and he forced himself to walk away.

"I have got to get off this rock." Wash as he climbed into the shuttle's pilot seat. He flipped several switches, igniting the engines.

"This the shuttle to Pollux?" A young woman said as she climbed in with a gaggle of her friends.

"That's what the sign says." He called from the front. "So I guess it must be." This elicited an eruption of giggles, which gave him an idea of not only the type of people his current passengers were, but also how the trip was going to go. Not that he was going to enjoy it in any case. He could make this trip in his sleep. He could make this trip in a coma. It was just that exciting. "Everybody buckle up." he said as her maneuvered the shuttle into traffic.

Later, while he waited the obligatory hour for passengers before he made the trip back to the city of Castor, Wash tried to catch a nap. His effort was disrupted by a wave from his boss.

"What are you doing?" the familiar face on the view screen asked. The man was grinning like he had something up his sleeve.

"I'm working, Tanaka," Wash said. "You know that thing you pay me for?"

"Well, get your ass back into Castor as soon as you can. I just heard tell of I guy in the world who's lookin' fer a pilot."

"No kiddin'," Wash leaned forward at this, but tried not to get his hopes up. "Who is this guy?"

"Known him fer awhile. He's good people."

"I'm on my way, did you get me a meet?"

"Nope, not yet. I haven't spoken to him, but I'll be meetin' up with him at the Crazy Monkey this afternoon."

"Gee, you know I think there's just nobody here in the shining city of Pollux who feel's like visiting Castor today." Wash said.

"There ain't nothin' shiny about Pollux, Wash."

"My point exactly," he said, grinning. He reached out a hand, quickly starting the sequence that would ignite the engines. As he pulled back on the yoke and lifted the small shuttle off the ground, he inwardly prayed it was the last time he'd ever do so.

He tapped his glass distractedly against the counter top debating to himself whether or not he wanted another. He wasn't sure if his nervousness was the prospect of a job, or just the usual edginess he seemed to be wearing like a bad shirt lately. He set the glass down and pushed it away just as a man stepped up to the bar several feet away and ordered in Chinese. Wash looked up out of reflex and then took a second look when he recognized the man. It was the Captain of the Firefly he'd seen that morning.

"Thanks," the man responded when the bartender handed him his drink. "Hey, I was wonderin' if you could help me, I'm here to meet a fella called Tanaka?" He hadn't finished speaking before the bartender, Gant, was pointing toward a table in the back. Wash already knew where. He turned back to the bar and ordered another drink after all.

The two men were laughing heartily when Wash approached the table. "Hey Boss, what'er you doin' here? Checking up on me?" Wash asked trying to sound casual and unplanned.

"Wash!" Abe Tanaka announced loudly and with convincing surprise. "I was just talkin' about you." The other man looked up. He had stopped laughing, but there was still a touch of the humor hanging around his eyes. He looked up and Wash amiably, but with caution. "Have a seat, Wash. Mal I want you to meet Wash, best damn pilot you'll ever chance t'meet."

"Your name's Wash?" Mal asked dryly, smirking as he took another sip of his drink.

"Trust me," Wash replied, "It's better then the alternative. Last name's Washburne."

"Nice to meet ya, Tanaka here tells me you may be in the market for a pilotin' position?"

"Could be," Wash said with shrug. Wo de ma, yes! Anything! Please get me the hell of this God forsaken ball of dirt. "If it's interesting enough."

"Well, I can guarantee it won't be too dull, except, you know, for the dull parts." He shared a smirk with Abe, and Wash grinned. So far he had to admit he liked this guy. Though there was definitely a hardness to him. "Mostly freelance transport. Occasionally some salvage. 'Mongst other things."

Wash nodded. He understood what "other things" likely meant. At least the man was honest. Still, it wasn't much a reassurance. "What are you flying?" He asked as though he didn't already know.

"Firefly, '03. She's got a few miles on her but she does the job." Wash was pretty sure that statement had just sold him on the job. He knew the sight of a man who loved his boat.

When Captain Malcolm Reynolds, as Wash learned he was called, went to get drinks Tanaka demanded to know the pilot's opinion.

"How exactly do you know this guy?" Wash asked narrowing his eye at the only man he'd had the ability to label friend in a long while.

"Met him during the war, you already figured that out."

"And yet you never told me you fought in the war, T."

"Being a Browncoat isn't something that gets ya far in this age, Wash. I'm not proud of the fact I usually keep it under wraps. Mal on the other hand wears it like a cloak."

"Or an actual coat," Wash said offhandedly.

Tanaka laughed, "Exactly. Look, I know you have serious reservations after Karkut, but Mal's good folk. I'm not saying he won't shoot you, but you'd have to give him a really good reason."

Wash frowned, "Thanks, that really helps."

"He's noble, Wash, these days, these parts, that's the rarest quality to find about anywhere." He raised his glass and pointed it at the man across the room. "He's got it, you got it, so take the damn job and get the hell off my moon!"

Wash paused a few yards back and looked up at the looming vessel, the late afternoon sun silhouetting her from behind. Fireflies were pretty. He took note for the first time the name on the side.

Serenity.

He felt all the tension that had been eating at him for the last six months ebb away. He smiled and walked towards the open cargo bay.

He could definitely use a little serenity.


End file.
